


This War Is Not Ours

by Zockerbestha



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a Templar, Crossover, Crowley is an Assassin, Established Relationship, French Revolution, Human AU, Kissing, M/M, assassins creed, hidden love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23878717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zockerbestha/pseuds/Zockerbestha
Summary: A hidden love between an Assassin and a Templar.Crossover oneshot Assassins Creed x Good Omens
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	This War Is Not Ours

**Author's Note:**

> I thought a lot about which side would represent the Assassins and which one the Templars. I choose to make Hell the Assassins and Heaven the Templars.
> 
> The Assassins fight for freedom and peace, they oppose oppression and those that want to control the world. While Hell isn’t big on the whole “Peace” thing, the Demons fell because they opposed the oppression they felt from God and Heaven and they stand for their freedom to make their own choices.
> 
> The Templars seek peace through order. They want to control the masses, because free will and freedom ultimately means chaos. That mindset reminds me of Heaven, since it is clear to anyone that they believe in following orders and work without questioning it. It’s the divine plan, so that’s it.
> 
> If you feel like I made a mistake here, feel free to tell me in the comments.

_Paris, 1793_

Grandmaster Gabriel will not be pleased.

Although, Aziraphale reasoned, he shouldn’t be concerned about Gabriels wrath, since he probably won’t be able to be there to feel it anyway.

The chains around his wrists irritate his skin and the sound of the guillotine just outside of his prison cell makes his skin crawl. He had underestimated his status as a Templar when he journeyed across the channel towards Paris, hadn’t even considered being captured during the Revolution.

In hindsight, he should have dressed differently, he should have dressed like a peasant. He should’ve done a lot of things but it was too late to matter now.

Aziraphale tensed up as he heard voices approach, turning his head to see three figures coming to stand in front of his cell. Two place themselves as guards outside while the third opens the door and joins Aziraphale in his cell.

The man circled Aziraphale. (In French) “Ah, the music of the blade and the joy of the people. Beautiful, no?” he doesn’t wait for a response. “Now, let us inspect your neck.”

As the man grabbed at his collar, Aziraphale flinched away. “Um, Monsieur, c’est une grande mistake, um, error.” He tries, cringing a little. “Bit out of practice at French. Je pense que quelque chose-“

“I speak English” the man interrupted his poor attempt to communicate in the native language.

But the man didn’t get another chance to prove how bilingual he was and Aziraphale freezes when he hears the unmistakable sound of an Assassins hidden blade meeting flesh, soon followed by the sound of a body dropping.

He didn’t dare to turn around, only risking a quick glance over at the cell door to see the bodies of the two guards laying motionless on the ground. He swallowed hard, forcing his body to stay still instead of trembling with the fear of knowing his end was nearly seconds away. He was a Templar and he learned to not show fear, especially when interacting with the Assassins.

“Come to end it yourself then?” Aziraphale asked, his voice low but clear. “Isn’t this how it’s supposed to be? Templars die at the blade of the Assassins, just as Assassins die by our weapons. Go on then, slaughter me like the animals out there would’ve done anyway”.

He closed his eyes and waited for the blow, for his end. But instead he heard a familiar voice.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, Angel, only humans do that” Crowley said, slightly smug to see his acquaintances in such an unfortunate position.

Aziraphale jumped up and whipped around, a smile he couldn’t even try to hide on his face. “Crowley!”.

His eyes wandered over Crowley dark robe, slightly rolling his eyes when he noticed the snake that was embroidered around the Assassins symbol on his chest. “Good lord.”

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a new bookshop as your base of operation back in London?” Crowley asked, cleaning his hidden blade with a cloth before letting it snap back into its holding.

“I-I was” Aziraphale smoothed down his robe, relief finally setting. “But the Grandmaster send me to deliver an important object to the Templars here and soon after I delivered it, I got captured.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “So, you got ordered to just pop across the channel, during a Revolution, dressed like that?!”

“I have standards!” Aziraphale nearly cried out, holding his still chained writs towards the Assassins so he could open the locks. “I thought it didn’t matter how I dress, since I am a rather high-ranking Templar back in London, but I underestimated the power of the revolution.”

As the shackles dropped to the floor, Crowley caught both of his wrists and pulled him closer for inspection, gently rubbing the angry red skin. “You were lucky I was in the area.”

Aziraphale watched Crowleys tender attention to him with a blush. “I suppose I was. Why are you here? Last I heard you were the Assassin assigned to oversee London.”

“Still am” Crowley confirmed, still concentrated on the wrists in his hands. “I was sent over here to Assassinate the Templar Grandmaster, Elisé de la Serre. My Mentor said that the Assassins in Paris could use a little help, but as soon as I arrived, they said that I am no help to them, said my reputation made me unsuitable for the job. Sent me back to deliver a letter.”

The annoyance at that was clear on Crowleys face and in his voice, the whole journey was useless. At last Crowley let go of Aziraphales wrists and he let them drop to his side, a little uncertain on how to proceed.

“I guess we’re both not welcomed in Paris. Thank you for the rescue” Aziraphale smiled, receiving a scoff from the Assassin.

“Don’t say that! If my people hear I rescued a Templar, I’ll be the one in trouble” Crowley hissed.

“Well, I’m very grateful” Aziraphale said anyway. “I am expected on a ship that leaves for London soon, you could join? It’s certainly safer than any other leaving port.”

Crowley looked down at himself. “Looking like that? The other Templars will definitely not just let me go on board.”

“You’re an Assassin” Aziraphale pointed out, crouching down to the lifeless corpse of the executioner to take his clothing. “I have private quarters, all the way in the back, and I left the window open. You have the skill to sneak on board.”

Crowley chuckled and pull his hood over his head. “Alright. See you there, Angel.”

After Aziraphale was disguised as the executioner, it was barely not a problem at all to make his way through the masses of the Parisians. Once he made it to the docks, the guards on his ships greeted him with a smug grin.

“Welcome back Master Fell. We heard you were caught by the revolution, scheduled to get your head chopped off. We almost didn’t expect you back” they laughed at him, but Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood to be made a joke off.

With two quick moves, the two fell onto their back, Aziraphale pointing the tip of a sword to each throat. “Do not forget _who_ I am! I made it out of the Bastille alive, not even a damn scratch, so maybe you two should show me the respect I deserve before you come laughing at me.”

The two just stared at him and Aziraphale rolled his eyes before making his way down under the deck and then to his quarters, letting the doors fall shut with a loud smack.

Once he was finally alone, he let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the door, closing his eyes. His swords dropped to the floor and Aziraphale was too tired to care.

It was a long journey, he got caught, nearly executed, then thought he would get assassinated and now after the long way back, these two idiots drained the last of his energy for today. He was tired.

“Whatever took you so long” Crowley greeted him then, making Aziraphale jump.

He had almost forgotten that Crowley was coming with him back to London and he relaxed once he saw him. “I’m too tired for your mocking, _Serpent.”_

Crowley grinned at him knowingly. There aren’t many that knew his actual name, Crowley, he was mostly known as the Assassin they call Serpent. If the Assassins knew he reviled his true name to a Templar, he would be done for. And if the Templars knew that Aziraphale was withholding said information, he would be equally in trouble.

Crowley approached and tugged at Aziraphales attire. “How about you take these off and we eat some dinner?”

Aziraphale gave a delighted wiggle at the mention of food and went off to change while Crowley gathered what little food he was able to take while he sneaked on board. A few minutes later, they sat together and ate, both feeling as at ease as they could never be while with their own kind.

They shouldn’t be like this. Templars and Assassins are at war with each other for thousands of years now and there is no doubt that this war will be raging on for thousands more.

Aziraphale was born into the Templar Order and trained from a young age on under the harsh eyes of the Grandmaster Gabriel himself. Aziraphale was skilled in battle, knew how to handle a sword without a problem. But he didn’t like to be in the field work, enjoyed his time far more with a good book and a cup of tea, hence why he was investing his money into a bookshop.

Aziraphale was high-ranked because of his upbringing, but he wasn’t well-liked by his own Order. Gabriel called him too soft, Michael said he lacked discipline and his ideas or opinions on various missions were always dismissed. He was useful for deliveries or information gathering, but that was basically it in the eyes of his fellow Templars.

Crowley joined the Assassins because he didn’t have another choice. His family abandoned him, disgusted by his snake like eyes, when he was around six years old. To this day he doesn’t know why they bothered to keep him for six years only to leave him in the streets of London anyway. His Mentor, Hastur, found and brough him to the Assassins and he was from then on raised by the Creed. Of course, it was his decision to make, but it was either join the Assassins or die on the street at this point.

He was a fast learner and his skills soon outranked his fellow students. It may have gotten to his head a little, as he soon began to plan his own missions and Assassinated on his own account instead of working with the Creed. He was a rebel, of sorts, and soon his own Mentor had to keep him on a metaphorical leash, keeping an eye on him to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid. It took him years to gain the Brotherhoods trust once more.

While Aziraphale and Crowley disagreed on many topics, what they both agreed upon was that this war between their sides is ultimately useless. They couldn’t stop it, the Assassins and Templars very rarely worked together and even then it wasn’t out of kindness.

Unlike them. Although Aziraphale never outright said it, they were friends, even more when they dared. They had met a good decade ago, when Crowley was assigned to assassinate Michael. After all his tracking down, all his careful evaluation on his options, what he ended up doing was underestimating the strength of the windowed ceiling and he fell right inside Aziraphales room.

The broken glass had left him in wounds and he was sure he was as good as dead when a blonde head appeared above him, the light from above making it seem like he had a halo. But Aziraphale had only helped him get up again, explained in a hurry the best way to make his way out of here and then made sure Crowley could escape.

Aziraphale told the Templars that an Assassins came for him, but he had insured him badly, showing the blood on the ground as a proof.

Crowley told the Assassins that they had doubled the guards around the estate, which he hadn’t expected. It still meant his fellow brothers and sisters were disappointed in him, but at least less than if they knew he let a Templar help him.

After that day, they met regularly, helped each other out and just like that, an unlikely friendship began.

Once they finished dinner, it was time for Aziraphale to retire to bed. Which reminded him of a small problem. “Oh dear, I forgot there is only one bed.”

As he began to look around for a place Crowley could rest on, the Assassins had already thrown himself down onto the bed with a grin.

“We can share” Crowley suggested casually.

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale blushed furiously. “Do you have any idea in how much trouble I’ll be in if I get caught with a man in my bed?! Let alone an Assassin.”

“Oh, sure. It all comes down to me being an Assassin, does it?” Crowley rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Of course, it does! We are hereditary enemies, we’re supposed to hate each other, _kill_ each other Crowley. Whatever have I thought about bringing you here anyway? What a terrible mista-“ he couldn’t finish the sentence as Crowley got up and pressed him against the wall.

“Stop.”

It wasn’t Crowleys action that made Aziraphale follow his order. It was the way Crowleys voice sounded vulnerable, how his body had a slight tremble.

“Stop talking like that. Not here, not with me. You _know_ what we are” Crowley whispered softly, his head dipping down to place a gentle kiss on Aziraphales exposed throat. “I never put my blade to your throat, but my lips. I never lied to you, I always protected you. We both know you did the same for me. You know I love you and I can’t take you talking like our feelings for each other are a mistake.”

“I’m sorry” Aziraphale whispered at last, his arms moving around Crowley to press him closer. “You’re right, I shouldn’t talk like that. I just get scared sometimes, I can’t risk our safety, I could never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

“Please, we’re stuck in your quarters for a while now. Can we just, for once, pretend that we’re normal? That I’m no Assassin and you no Templar?” Crowley pleaded, nuzzling under Aziraphales jaw.

Aziraphale was hesitant to answer, but Crowley had already turned them and pushed him onto the bed, following since Aziraphale had his arms around him. They giggled at each other, the tension for a moment broken.

Crowley managed to bully his partner under the blanked and snuggled as close to him as he could, holding on tight. “See? Feels wonderful, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale sighed and nuzzled his nose into Crowley red hair, closing his eyes, his voice soft and full of love. “It does. You know I want this too, don’t you?”

Crowley shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. I sometimes feel like my feelings for you aren’t reciprocated”

“They are” Aziraphale promised, kissing Crowleys forehead as he looked up at him. “I’m just cautious to show it. Call me a coward.”

Crowley looked at his lips, then up to his eyes again, curious. “What if nothing of it mattered? What would you do then, Angel?”

Aziraphale didn’t have to think about his answer long and he pushed Crowley onto his back to then crawl on top of him, looking down into wide eyes. “I would love you openly. I would kiss you, hug you, make love to you, every day and every night. I would never leave your side, would put a golden ring on your finger and call you my husband.”

“Aziraphale, kiss me already” Crowley whined under him, pushing his head up as far as he can but still not enough to connect their lips.

Taking pity on him, and also giving in on his own desire, Aziraphale lowered his head and pressed their lips firmly together. Crowley arched his back, desperate for as much contact between them as possible, his lean arms thrown around Aziraphales neck to keep him close.

“I love you” Aziraphale whispered against Crowleys lips. “And I’m sorry that I don’t say it enough. Or that we can’t see each other too much. I just can’t risk you getting hurt.”

“Didn’t we agree to pretend we’re normal people?” Crowley groaned, tenderly biting Aziraphales jaw. “And I love you too.”

Giggling, they continued to get lost in their love, pretending that there was no threat above them. That this was their normal and that these moments wouldn’t stop as soon as they arrived at London.

That this war was not theirs to fight. 


End file.
